


Coffee and Cherries

by Crowgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Conversation, M/M, Pie, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:35:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Outtake/prequel from <i><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/279821">To Ask and To Have</a></i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee and Cherries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elizajane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane/gifts).



Dean’s dozing in the front seat of the Impala, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the door, waiting for Sam.

It’s nearly four-thirty on a cold afternoon in March and the East Bumfuck Historical Society should be closing any minute now but, if he knows his baby brother, he’s probably puppy-dogged his way into some locked collection or sweet-talked the librarian into letting him see something he shouldn’t and Dean might well be out here all night.

Dean shrugs himself lower in the seat and stares out at the intersection in front of him. The sun is going down fast, the light dying, and he suspects those clouds gathering on the skyline are going to dump something nasty in the near future. He doesn’t want to kill the Impala’s engine listening to the radio and he’s got nothing to read so it looks like staring out at the main drag is his only entertainment.

The little town isn’t entirely dead on its feet yet, but it’s certainly staggering towards the end. The main street has a few stores open: a bookstore, something that passes for a grocery store, a fancier restaurant and a pizza place, a video rental place, and a liquor store. People are walking up and down the sidewalks -- he knows from earlier exploration that the bookstore has a tiny café in the back and people turn in there pretty regularly.

Something makes a soft rapping sound on the passenger window and he twists around. Castiel is knocking on the glass with the back of his wrist.

Dean stretches over and unlocks the door, shoving it open with the flat of his hand. ‘Hey, Cas.’

‘Good evening, Dean.’ The angel slides into the seat, sets his burdens on the seat between them, and pulls the door closed. ‘I thought you would want some food since Sam is taking such a long time.’

‘Hey...’ There’s a cardboard cup of what smells like fantastic coffee and a paper bag with what looks like a bakery logo on it. ‘Thanks.’

Castiel inclines his head. ‘I asked the waitress for her recommendation. She said the cherry was best.’

‘You got me _pie?’_ Dean pulls open the top of the bag and peers inside at a glorious sight: a generous wedge of glistening cherry pie, complete with a splodge of whipped cream just starting to melt.

‘She said it was very good this time of year.’

‘Where the hell _were_ you? This isn’t from around here!’ Dean rummages in the bottom of the bag, pulls out a plastic fork, and props the container on his knee.

‘Somewhere in California. Near the coast, I believe. The air tasted of salt.’

Dean glances over at Cas. It’s past sunset and the inside of the car is getting dimmer and dimmer, but there’s a streetlight only a few yards down the road and it’s just starting to flicker and try to turn itself on. Castiel is just about visible: a dark outline against the lighter window, his trench coat even lighter. His hands are on his knees, open, relaxed.

‘What were you doing there?’ Dean cracks open the plastic clamshell and takes a deep sniff of the sweet fruit scent.

Castiel shrugs. ‘Trying to find out where Lilith will go next.’

‘Get anything?’ Dean digs out the point of the wedge, admires it for a minute on the fork.

‘Nothing of use. There may be a hunt along the Monterey coast if you and Sam are interested.’

At the minute all Dean’s really interested in is the sweet tangy taste on his tongue and how quickly he can get some more of it. As soon as he can speak, he says, ‘Is it near wherever you got this? ‘Cause if it is, we’re going.’

Castiel looks over at Dean and smiles. ‘Is it good?’

‘Oh, _man_ \-- didn’t you have any?’ Dean spears another bite and holds it out. ‘You gotta try some.’

Cas holds up a hand. ‘It is for you. I do not need to--’

‘I don’t care, Cas; you _have_ to try some of this.’ Dean prods the fork at him insistently and, shrugging, Castiel opens his mouth and takes the bite. A little juice escapes, staining the corner of Castiel’s mouth. Even in the dim light, Dean can see the dark juice on Castiel’s lip and he almost reaches out to wipe it away without thinking.

 _what the fuck are you doing, Winchester!_ He pulls his hand, fork and all, back almost too sharply. ‘Good pie, huh?’ He stares down at the open clamshell, the cherry filling starting to fall off the crust. He can feel the nerves in his hand tingling as if he really had reached out and touched Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel nods, wiping his lips with his thumb. ‘It is good. The waitress said it was one of their most popular. She said the cherries came from the last harvest at an orchard nearby, close to where she had grown up as a child.’

‘Quite a conversation you had.’ Dean fixes his eyes on the pie, but he can’t taste the bite he has in his mouth. He puts down the fork and picks up the coffee instead, cracking off the plastic lid and letting the steam tickle his face.

‘It was a very quiet afternoon; I believe she was bored.’

‘Cute?’

‘What?’

‘Was she cute?’ Dean takes a sip of coffee; that’s good, too. Sweet and a little nutty, almost like good chocolate.

Castiel looks out his window contemplatively, seeming to consider the question. ‘She was young, small -- as if she had not quite finished growing. She had very lovely hands -- a little like yours.’

‘You sayin’ I’ve got girl’s hands?’ Dean clutches at the coffee cup for support, not sure if he’s jealous of the girl or what the hell’s going on.

Castiel shakes his head. ‘No. But she was very -- sure with her hands, very confident in what she was doing. She was cooking behind the counter as we spoke and I watched her work.’

‘Did she make this?’

Castiel nods. ‘I believe so.’

‘It’s good.’

‘You have said.’ Castiel looks over at Dean, but the light is too dim for his expression to be visible and Dean curses the streetlight that won’t decide whether or not to turn on. The evening’s turning cold, a light rain speckling down on the windshield as the clouds gather heavy overhead and Dean can still see the light on in the Historical Society building. Whatever Sam’s found, it better damn well be good.

He balances the coffee cup on the dashboard and picks up the fork again, stabbing a cherry on one point. ‘So what else’d she have to say? This chick?’

Castiel looks away out the window again. ‘She spoke about the cherry orchard at some length -- how beautiful it was in bloom in the early spring and how much she missed going out there with her brother to pick fruit in the summer.’

‘Yeah? I’ve never done that.’ Dean rolls the cherry around his mouth, sucking the sweet syrup off it, then swallowing the fruit whole.

‘I could take you and Sam there if you wish.’ Castiel looks back at him and the streetlight flashes into life long enough for Dean to see the intensity in Castiel’s eyes. ‘You would like it there, I think. It is very lovely.’

‘You wanna go back and find your girlfriend again?’ Dean hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but the words come out sharp and cynical and almost angry.

Castiel’s head tilts slightly. ‘She was a very nice woman. Many people...become uneasy around me. She did not.’

‘Can’t imagine why,’ Dean mutters at the pie, stabbing another forkful.

‘You would like the place, Dean.’ Castiel turns back to the window, tilts his head again to look up at the sky.

‘Yeah, well...’ Dean mumbles into the mouthful of pie, looks over at Castiel, and nearly forgets how to swallow.

The streetlight has flickered into fitful life and Castiel is outlined in silver. The reflections of the rain dappling the window are shining back on his skin and in his eyes and Dean can just see the ragged edges of his dark hair brushing the collar of his coat and his throat. In the sudden quiet in the car, Dean can just hear the soft sound of Castiel breathing and the rustle of cloth as he moves.

Dean drags his gaze back to the coffee cup on the dashboard in front of him, forcing himself to stare at the tiny curl of steam twisting upwards into the chilling air of the car. His jeans are suddenly uncomfortable, too tight, and he can feel what he knows is a telltale bulge with the back of his hand. _Fuck. Oh, sonuvabitching fucking fuck..._

He closes his eyes and curses with all his heart because there is no possible way this can end well.


End file.
